Community

In the summer, our quiet lakeside community in Maine emerges into a wave of activity. Although most of us are year round residents, the winter keeps us in and the summer months draw us out to our docks where we lounge by the tranquil water. We wave enthusiastically to each other and send our “hellos” across the lakefront. As we pass on our walks, we pause to greet each other and briefly catch up on family news.

In one part of our community, there is a practice that intrigues me. Several houses in a row, have chairs, many just plastic well worn chairs, in a circle on their lawns. One lawn is punctuated with white chairs, another with green and still another mix of old and new, plastic and wooden. These chairs send a message of community. The chairs invite people into the circle of conversation, storytelling and laughter. The sounds of connecting after a long winter. A community of summer friends and family.

As I walk past these chairs, undefined in their stature, on my daily walk with my dogs, I often wonder about the stories that are shared. Are they the stories of dreams for the future, dreams lost or stories of connections and relationships? I wonder how one is invited into the circle? How do you know when to begin or when to end?

Community brings each of us a sense of connection in a world that is full of anxiety and concern. In many ways our world of community has grown by the use of Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter, but the real live connections bring the real sense of understanding. A longing for community is resurfacing. Coffee shops with lounge chairs invite customers in to stay and maybe greet and talk with others, even strangers.

Neighborhoods and churches in times past created community. People are returning to these as vehicles to build connection to others and community.

Over the years, I have been blessed by being a part of a variety of communities. Mostly, these communities were created by women who needed to come together to help one another through storytelling.

Recently, one of these communities reunited for an afternoon after not being together for three years. The group initially came together fifteen or twenty years ago with the assistance of a facilitator. I actually joined the community when it was transforming form a formal gathering to informal. Over the years, we have connected and reconnected at times, meeting at the home of one of the women or for brunch at some relaxing place. We share recent stories of our lives, the heartache, the joys and dreams. Then, we depart scattering to different areas of the country with hugs and smiles to hold us until the next time we come together.

In the work that I do as a facilitator, I work hard to create an opportunity to build community by having participants sit at round tables or in a circle. I am reminded when people are in seated classroom style how a sense of community and connection is stifled.

So, why does community mater? In these trying times, community gives us the sense of belonging. A community provides us a way to support one another, spend time listening to what is important and connecting in a way that can keep our spirit alive. I hope you find community in your life to help during these challenging times.

Reinventing Ourselves: One Bloom at a Time

I received an email from a person recently who I had not spoken to or heard from in quite some time. He had seen my name somewhere and wondered if it was truly me. I confirmed in a return email that “Yes, indeed. It was me wearing a different hat.”

I then inquired if he was still doing what I remembered him doing professionally. A quick email reply back indicated that “no, no, no” and he had changed jobs and industries twice since I last heard from him.

With these economic times and businesses cutting positions, many are faced with reinventing aspects of their lives. Companies are offering voluntary resignations which are giving people the opportunity to look at their jobs and careers and decide what else they might do. With people facing job eliminations, the same questions are being asked. People want to know if this is the time to “reinvent.” Yes, I do think this is the time.

During my life, I have reinvented aspects of my life numerous times. Sometimes I initiated the change and sometimes it was initiated for me. In every case, a positive result emerged. In the moment, though, I may not have felt confident that the end result would be good. Change can be difficult and I know myself that I have a tendency to resist at first and then dive in.

In reinventing me, at times, it has been physical, at times personal and at times, professionally. Physically, I have made many changes. I grew up with asthma at a time when the best treatment was considered to be limiting physical activity. In my twenties, I realized that the more active I became the stronger my lungs were. I started running! I never did pursue a marathon but I still am physically active today. I remember back to those first runs. My legs seem to drag, my sneakers felt like weights after only a few minutes. My lungs ached and cried for me to stop. I persisted, though, and now when I am not able to be physically active, I feel something is missing.

Professionally, one of the biggest risks and opportunity for reinventing myself was when I left the comfort of a corporate setting, paycheck and benefits to start my own business. This was a life long dream of mine to manage my own business. But how scary! What if I couldn’t find work? What if I could not provide for my daughters? I was a single mother and in a new relationship. What would be the impact on those close to me? I worked hard on developing my business plan and on June 19, 1996, I opened the doors to my business and have never looked back. Yes, there have been uncertain times but there has been great satisfaction knowing that I am in charge of my destiny. I am the one that determines how much I work, how hard I want to work and what I will do for work.

Whenever I have not held true to who I am, the “reinventing” has not been sustained. With economic uncertainty, new opportunities will appear and new industries will spring up. This may mean that some will take temporary roles, due to the economy, as a bridge to new opportunities.

We never know what is around the corner for us. I am supporting people who are facing job eliminations. I have seen people reinvent themselves in some very significant ways. Two keys to success is believing in yourself and the vision of your new self. Having a support system of family, friends and colleagues who will listen to your ideas, fears and excitement can ease the way.

I am always reminded of Rebeka Luken’s words, “If it is to be, it is up to me.”
This could be the perfect time for reinventing yourself. Spring, the season of new beginnings, is just around the corner.

If you would like to share your story of how you reinvented yourself, please share here or send me an email at prdunton@msn.com. Looking forward to hearing your story.

Time for Compassion

The line in the department store was long keeping with the holiday bustle. Patient customers juggled their items in their arms or checked what they had in their carriages making sure nothing was forgotten. Time was running out and one trip was all that would fit into many of their hectic schedules. Cashiers could barely tilt their heads upward to meet the eyes or see the faces of their harried customers.

I waited in line, behind a chattering man, ready to cash out in front of me. He was talking about his family members to the cashier who he obviously knew. He was chatting about how food and paper goods were being consumed at a rapid pace. His break time was being used to purchase more milk, eggs and basic items that seemed to be diminishing quickly with extra people in his home.

Suddenly, another man with presumably his daughter rushed to get the attention of the cashier as she ended the transaction of the chatting man and began processing mine.

“Excuse me, excuse me. Did you find my wallet? I just went through here.”

The cashier glanced up briefly, looked quickly around and then began reaching for my purchases to scan. In the same breath, she simply said, “Nothing left here.”

“But, but you just waited on me,” he stammered.

“No, it must not have been me,” she replied.

“Remember, I had the fifty dollar bill,” he said as he tried again to get her attention.

The cashier brushing the annoying man aside continued with my transaction. The man’s face showed sheer panic. Maybe the only money he had left for Christmas shopping was in that wallet. Maybe a photo of a loved one or maybe his identity was in his wallet. As the cashier continued to ignore the man, he began feeling in his pockets, opening his jacket with a continued and rising look of panic and anxiety.

“Are you sure it is not here?” he tried again for her attention.

As I watched all of this unfolding, I saw the outline of what appeared to be a man’s shaped wallet in an inner vest worn to keep the cold chill air away. There secure in its resting place was his wallet. Quietly, I asked if he had checked his inside vest. Startled by my speaking to him, he reached in his vest pocket and felt the lost wallet.

“Thank you,” he said quickly as his face softened and he turned without another word.

The cashier paused and looked into my eyes, “Thank you for helping him. We do have good people who shop here.”

In these trying times, we all need to be reminded to slow down and watch what is going on around us. We need to look at the faces. See the joy and see the pain and fear. With cold, harsh winter weather barring down on us, jobs being lost and family income tight, we all need to take the time for each other. We need to take a minute and show compassion. In just taking one moment, maybe we can ease someone’s fear, pain or anxiety. Compassion and an outstretched hand may help these troubling times feel gentler and allow the “good” to come out in all of us.

May you all hold the spirit of the season, peace and joy, in your heart. May you offer compassion in these trying times.

Happy Holidays and thank you for being patient this year as fewer stories were written during my recovery. Look for more in 2009. Peace to you all.

Diane

Safety: Reality or Illusion

On a cool fall day I prepared to drive to Boston for an all day conference. The decision to drive the two hour commute the morning of the conference required me to get out of bed very early on a Saturday morning to arrive on time. This was a struggle for me as I cherish my lazy, sleepy Saturday mornings sitting by the window looking out at the lake with a hot cup of coffee in hand. This particular Saturday was no different when it came to wanting to be lazy and I ended up leaving the house later than I should have.

As I traveled down the highway in my midsized sports utility vehicle (downsized due to fuel costs), I found the roads were good and the traffic was moderate. I was pleased with the progress I was making and confident that I would arrive at my destination on time. In fact, I surmised that I would even have time to stop for a refill on my coffee. As I sang out loud to the country tunes that were playing on my favorite radio station, I was enjoying my early morning outing. Suddenly, I felt a strong vibration and a loud noise emerge from my vehicle. I was in the passing lane and knew that I needed to quickly get to the breakdown lane. As my speed drastically reduced and I luckily avoided being hit by rushing cars that came from behind I managed to maneuver my car safely to the side of the road.

As the car came to an abrupt stop, my body was shaking and I suddenly began to feel a wave of relief from the fact that no one had hit me. I emerged from the car and proceeded to inspect it. The right back rear tire had, much to my surprise, literally exploded and had begun to smolder.

What had happened? Had I hit something in the road? Had I failed to notice an obstacle in the road waiting to puncture a tire? I called AAA and within a short period of time the tire was replaced. I then was back on the road; however, this time I proceeded much more cautiously as I continued on to my destination.

Later, as I began to reply in my mind the events from earlier that day, I was struck by how safe and secure I felt in my SUV, not unlike, many of us. The bigger the SUV the safer we feel. The same holds true for some of us in other aspects of our lives, including our jobs, investments, health and relationships. Not the size but the illusion of being safe. But is this safety only an illusion or is it in fact a reality?

As our economy reels from the financial global crisis of the last two months, material goods out of reach in some cases due to loan or credit restrictions and hundreds of jobs teetering on the brink of elimination, we are given reason to pause and ask, "How safe and secure are we? How safe and secure am I?"

These plunges into the depths of uncertainty have many treading water and assessing their relationship with money, material goods, jobs and even relationships. What can we feel safe about? How can we survive these turbulent waters around us?

For me, it is a process of integrating what was, what is and what the future may hold. As with my recent cancer journey in the past year, I look to understanding and integrating, knowing I will never be the same. Things have changed for me. At some level, uncertainty will always be my lifelong companion having experienced cancer and being a survivor.

I felt, like I did in my car, safe in my physical body. Yes, I did have aches and pains, but nothing significant. Yet, a cancer was growing inside my body. A cancer that was not visible on the outside but had the potential, undetected, to ravage my body. The financial crisis crept up on us, as a country, like a cancer, ready to wreak havoc on our lives as individuals and corporations.

So what do we do to crate a sense of safety, both physical and financial? Or does such as sense of safety even exist? Is it merely an illusion. For me, it is focusing on the simple things in life that bring us joy and assess how our time is spent. It is looking at family, friends, community, jobs, money and material goods and asking the questions relevant to each of us. For me, it is the following:

How am I spending my time? What can I do to nurture my relationships with family and friends? Am I reaching out to others or am I waiting for others to call me? Am I sending a card or email to family or friends whether they are in crisis or not? Am I listening to them?

Am I finding ways to give back to the community? Am I sharing m good fortune with others who may be less fortunate? Am I working to make a difference in others' lives?

Am I living up to my full potential? Am I doing work that fuels the passion in me? If not, how can I bring elements of passion into my life? Is my relationship with money and material goods keeping me free from anxiety? Am I content with what I have right in this moment, knowing I have a warm home and food for me and my family?

Lastly, are there things I can give away that I know longer need? How can I simplify my life to focus on the true enjoyment that life can bring?

Life is how we spend our time now, not for the future as we never know what the future may hold. Safety is an illusion we create; letting go of that illusion can release us from striving to hold onto the things in life that may not bring us true joy. Focusing on family, friends and giving back can bring us the wealth that money and material goods cannot. Maybe, that is the real safety that we can create. A sense of knowing we have made a difference.

Ruby...New Hope

The cool ocean breeze laps at my face as I sit quietly on the shore of the coastal Maine inlet. Since my cancer diagnosis last September, the urge to write had seemed to fade to some unknown place. In my patience for the return of ink to paper, I wondered what would create the urge to write again. I thought I had lost my ability and joy in being a storyteller- something that has been part of me since I was a child sitting at the dining room table.

Within the last few days, I finished a pet portrait of an adorable shaggy haired golden doodle named Ruby. Like my writing, I wondered if the desire and passion for painting would return. My time and this painting were donated for an auction held to raise money for an educational institution. When I agreed to the painting, I did not realize how difficult I would find putting brush to white canvas.

Ruby was painful for me at first, both emotionally and physically. Where do I begin? What if I have forgotten how to paint? What do I use as a background? How do I capture the sparkle and mischief in Ruby’s eyes? Why did I commit to this? How can I even lift a paintbrush when my arms and muscles still ache from the reconstructive surgery?

The painting of Ruby was even more painful as only a month before I learned that one of the people whom I cherish and hold dear- my art instructor- was fighting her own battle with cancer. Her diagnosis, like mine and all of us who have experienced this disease, was a shock. She entered the hospital and had to stay for over three weeks, was sent home, then had to re-enter for more treatment. How could I paint without her prodding and critiquing me along the way?

Over a two to three week timeframe, I persisted in making Ruby come alive on canvas. Colors of golden light and washes of sienna were added one stroke at a time. I finished Ruby and lovingly packed the portrait to be shipped off to her owner. Within a few days, an email had arrived saying, “This is fantastic. We love it. She is our first dog and she means a lot to us.” My family members thought Ruby’s portrait was one of my best. That might be so, but it wasn’t the easiest. I look forward to more painting in the days to come, though, and know I can’t let it go.

The writing began to emerge slowly, like the painting and like everything else that was part of my pre-cancer life. A few days ago, after spending months taking long walks with my labradoodle, I tried running. Not far…not a long distance…but it was a beginning. As I ran at a slow and deliberate pace, I knew that the writing, like the painting and running, would return. As my strong legs carried me words began to flow in my mind. Running has always been meditative for me. I write in my head before putting pen to paper. I design keynotes, retreats and plan business strategies. The running allows my mind to be creative. As I ran intermittently, I knew the writing would flow again if I was patient.

As I write this, I am preparing to facilitate a planning retreat for twelve people. I arrived early to this quiet Oceanside inn. The ocean always brings me a sense of tranquility. I spent the afternoon roaming around exploring the back roads that led to nowhere other than a circle around the harbor. The late evening sun bathes the lobster boats, dingys and pleasure boats in a warm glow of yellow. The clicking of my camera alerts me to the desire to watercolor the photos I am now capturing on film. A child’s voice calls out, “Daddy.” The seagulls cry overhead. The moon slowly rises over the trees, becoming more luminescent as the sun disappears into the western sky.

Yes, I will write. Yes, I will paint. I hope you will join me from time to time on my journey of renewed hope, new dreams, new possibilities and a new future beyond cancer.

Thank you, Ruby, for helping me take the first step.

Courage and Pooh

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." A. A. Milne creator of Winnie the Pooh

As a young girl, I remember falling in love with Winnie the Pooh and his friends, Piglet, Eeyore and Tigger. My childhood nickname was similar to Pooh's, so I felt I had an affinity to Pooh. Pooh was carefree, pausing to reflect on the simple things in life and had one primary focus, honey. Oh, honey brought such joy to that little, round cuddly yellow bear. As I matured, it seemed that our names were all we had in common.

Through my teens and early twenties, I lost touch with Pooh. I lost touch with the reflective, curious side of myself so prominent in Pooh. As a teen and into my early twenties, I was intense, driven and out to make my mark on the world. In college, I delved into student activities and was elected as the first chairperson of the group. I worked hard at my classes and created a strong network of friends. Upon graduation, I jumped right into a management training program with a Fortune 500 company and began what was my goal of climbing the corporate ladder.

When my two precious daughters came into the world in my late twenties, I introduced them to Pooh through reading night time stories of his adventures. I fell in love with him and his friends all over again as I read. A.A. Milne's stories to my children. We read about the questions that Winnie the Pooh posed to his friend Christopher Robin, his responses to his less than optimistic friend Eeyore and of his sheer delight in sharing with his friends, Piglet and Tigger. Seeing the joy in my daughters' bright eyes as we laughed at silly Pooh, reminded me of the importance of holding on to the delight of the simple things in life and what curiosity can bring.

As my daughters grew older, our reading time with Pooh slipped away. I had painted a life size Pooh and Piglet on their playroom wall but they soon outgrew the play room. Then when we moved, the life size Pooh was left behind to be painted over by the new owners. Time escaped me. Life moved on and I was busy.

Pooh appeared briefly, when on a trip to Disney with my daughters, a stuffed Pooh caught my attention in a souvenir store. I walked by the display of Pooh sitting graciously on a chair with an indiscriminate look about him. I kept walking by him as I began to reminisce about my favorite character. My oldest daughter, watching me, finally blurted out, "Mom, why don't you treat yourself and buy Pooh. You know how you love him."

Many thoughts raced through my mind. "How silly of her! I am a grown woman! I could not buy Pooh for myself. I would not have the room in my suitcase to carry him back home. I shouldn't spend the extra money that was to be used on souvenirs for the girls or family back home." Then, in an instant, I knew I could not leave him behind. I picked up the soft Pooh bear and headed to the register. Pooh was still my love and now, once again, he was mine.

Life became busy again. Time was too short. Pooh remained a fixture on a chair in my bedroom. Pooh changed chairs when I moved to new homes, but he remained a presence in my bedroom.

As I began thinking about writing this blog (and I realize that it has been quite some time), I thought about courage. Throughout my recovery from breast cancer, the word, courage has been said to me over and over by friends. When I share with them my decision to have a bilateral mastectomy and my experience, friends have responded, "You have such courage."

What is courage and what constitutes courage? In Webster's dictionary, courage is defined as "mental or moral strength to persevere, or withstand danger, fear or difficulty. To be courageous is to be brave." As I searched the internet for quotes on courage, my old friend Pooh appeared as one of the first quotes on the list.

As I reflected on courage, I realized that I do not feel I have had courage or been courageous. I compare my experience to all the people that I think have been brave and courageous. Of course, I do not measure up to them! I just did what I knew I needed to do. I was braver than I believed possible for me, stronger than I seemed to ever have been before. Suddenly Pooh's quote put it in simple terms for me. I have been courageous and I have been brave.

This is the human spirit. We all have that place in us that courage and being brave rest just waiting for the moment in which the human spirit shines. I have seen the spirit shine in others in their darkest moments. It is part of us.

Yes, Pooh, I do have courage. I have been brave. Thank you, Pooh and to my friends for stating it so simply. I have been more courageous than I believed I could be as I have traveled on this cancer journey. I know I will continue to be brave as I continue to heal.

Reflection-Being Still

As I catch my reflection in the mirror, outwardly I appear the same as I was before my surgery for cancer. Hair flowing softly around my face, a body that reflects a year of devotion to exercise and a smile that appears when people ask me how I am doing. Inwardly, I am changing and healing in ways that I do not even fully know. This is a time of reflection and of being still. My body is working hard to heal and I need to be still to allow that to happen. This is a very difficult challenge for me. My body needs to rest. My mind, even in the wee hours of morning light, is unable.

What about my work? What about my clients? How will I decorate my house for the holidays?How will I prepare for the holidays? How will I pay bills and keep up with things during this time of no work as a business owner who is self-employed? When will I be able to pick up a paint brush and add strokes to a canvas?

My arms tire easily just from writing or responding to emails, yet my mind is racing. Three weeks have passed since my surgery. A surgery that freed my body of breast cancer, a surgery that freed me from the threat and anxiety that had been a gray cloud over my head for 20 years of biopsies.

The day of surgery, I felt a peace wash over me. No more breast biopsies. The bilateral mastectomy would take that risk away along with the cancer.

The first two weeks post surgery presented many challenges. Tiny movements of my arms and chest muscles posed difficult. I have been amazed at how much we use our chest muscles to do the simplest of tasks. I always thought it was my arms. I have discovered it was my chest muscles doing most of the work! The kitchen faucet which is turned on by a push/pull movement was nearly impossible for the first three weeks and is still not easy. Opening doors, reaching for a coffee mug on a shelf above shoulder height or trying to wash and dry my hair takes longer. My body is in slow motion. Allowing my family to help me with even the simplest of tasks, like bathing, has challenged me to let go.

Humor has helped get me through some of the tough moments. Family members have competed on who can style my hair the best (my oldest daughter won that contest), who drives the best, which means who avoids all the bumps in the road, (my youngest daughter won that feat), and how to wash my hair without getting the bandages wet (I will keep the winner of that task a secret!).

As I begin to heal inside, I need to give myself credit for what I can do at this early point. I need to give myself permission to take it easy and that naps (several in a day) are a good thing. In the fast paced world that we live in and is the norm, being still is hard. To be patient with the healing is hard. I have high expectations of myself that I need to let go.

And then, there is my body. The reconstructive process has barely begun. As I look at my body, the changed image is hard to view. Stitches, swelling and bruising are prominent. I am disfigured in a way that my eyes were not ready to see. As an artist, there is a certain point in a painting when I want to toss whatever I am working on into the trash. As I continue to work, the finished product turns into a beautiful piece of art. My wise daughter of twenty-three years, reminded me of what transpires when I paint. She said, "Mom, your body, like your paintings, is just beginning to transform. You will be beautiful."

Yes, if I can let go, be patient and still to allow all this to happen, this process of healing, reflecting and learning, will be good. I must keep a sense of humor and laugh at the little things that I find a challenge. This is another part of my journey and as I write this on Thanksgiving day, I know I have a lot to give thanks for this year.